First Times
by moonlight gal
Summary: "Hyuuga-san, have you and otouto met before?" "Um, no. Not that I can recall." "Strange. It seems so, with the way you interact." "We hardly interact at all, Uchiha-san." "One does not necessarily need to speak to interact, Hyuuga-san." She blushed.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, and I do not own these quotes.**

_"Don't cry when the sun goes away, the tears won't let you see the stars."_

The first time she had seen him, it had been raining in torrents.

Naturally, at the tender age of ten, she'd been greatly puzzled at seeing him there, kneeling at the edge of the catfish pond, simply _staring. _She'd watched his wild, raven hair, sticking to his forehead as the rain soaked it more and more with every passing second, and his large, unblinking obsidian eyes, and his alabaster skin growing paler and paler. She had tried calling out to him (she had been _concerned_- really, she had) with her meek, shaking voice, but he had paid her no heed. So, in the end, she chose to turn around and scurry away into her sanctuary with the naive selfishness only a child could possess.

He never looked at her.

_"Children need love. Especially when they do not deserve it."_

The first time she had _met _him had been years later, when she was twelve and he was a year older. She remembered him, but she didn't dare mention it. Those dark, dark eyes sparked something inside of her, but she wanted to bury it underneath pleasantries and polite conversations (which were entirely one-sided, to be honest- unless you could consider glares and condescending scoffs to be worthwhile replies.)

To tell the truth, she didn't like him. She liked his brother much better. He was polite, and chivalrous, and courteous, and he treated her like a _lady. _And ladies, she knew, didn't deserve to be scoffed at. If she wasn't raised as a Hyuuga, she was _sure _she wouldn't have been able to withstand those horrible glares either.

She wasn't stupid. She saw the way her father and Fugaku-sama looked at her and that boy's brother. She saw the way they nodded approvingly whenever she bowed to him, or when he nodded at her. She saw the gleam in their eyes whenever they exchanged a polite word or two. So, maybe, it was her sense of obligation to the Hyuuga name talking when she convinced herself that she liked his brother. Honestly, she was sure she would eventually come to love him. She liked him already, after all.

The fact that she referred to him as 'that boy's brother' said otherwise.

"Hyuuga-san," he'd said one day when they were sitting in the gardens, rolling a tulip between his fingers. "Have you and otouto met before?"

"Um, no. Not that I can recall," she'd answered after a pause of surprise. And then she'd looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. Tracing the soft pink pattern of her intricate kimono with her eyes, Hinata convinced herself that standing at the gate of her mansion, _watching _someone for a good ten minutes, and feeling like she was entrapped for whatever reason, did _not _equate to meeting someone.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she'd said, maybe a bit too quickly. "Why do you ask?"

He pursed his lips almost unnoticeably, and let out a soft hum of contemplation.

"No reason. It simply seemed that way, is all," he responded. Quietly, he turned to her, and she felt like his eyes (obsidian, much like his brother's) were burning into her. "You interact as if you've known each other for years."

"We hardly interact at all, Uchiha-san," she said, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice.

He stood up. "One does not need to speak to interact, Hyuuga-san."

When he left her there, sitting alone and accompanied by nothing except tulips and roses and carnations, she'd felt, for the first time, that he _hadn't _treated her as a lady _should _be treated.

_"First love is only a little foolishness and a lot of curiosity."_

The first time she had spoken with him was a good six years later, at _the _announcement.

"I am pleased to announce that my eldest daughter and heiress to the Hyuuga name, Hinata, will soon be engaged to the heir of the great Uchiha clan, Itachi Uchiha. I find great pleasure in informing you of this recent development, and am sure that my daughter will be treated with great care in the Uchiha household. I ask for your blessings."

As soon as she heard her father say the words 'recent development' as if he were talking about a business pact with another profitable company, she immediately felt sick to her stomach. Hoping that the clicking sounds of her heels wouldn't be heard over the polite applause, she slipped into the backyard, hand over her mouth, and slowed down her steps.

Looking back on it, Hinata would never quite understand why she immediately recognized the spiked black hair and the angular face from afar.

He was leaning against one of the stone pillars, hands buried inside the pockets of his black slacks and a cigarette held loosely between his pale lips. He was staring at the catfish pond, unblinking, and with a strange intensity. Just the same as eight years before, except that there was no rain.

She stood there, watching, and she felt the same feeling well up inside her gut. This time, however, there was no tremor in her voice when she called out to him. Albeit the shyness still remained, but the stutter had been long forced out.

"Uh, excuse me," she called. "Uchiha-san? Is that you?"

Of course it was, but no harm in hoping, she guessed.

Unlike the first time, the sound of heavy rain wasn't present to drown out her voice. He turned to her nonchalantly, and she resisted the urge to take a step back. What had she been _thinking_, comparing Itachi's gaze to his?

He looked at her expectantly, and, not for the first time, she buried those unwanted sparks exploding in her stomach underneath layers and layers of taught politeness once more. She felt the hesitancy she'd last experienced several years ago acting up again, so she crushed it, and said tentatively, "I don't think you're supposed to be here, Uchiha-san. The announcement-"

"Fine words, coming from the bride-to-be."

The first words she'd heard him speak, and she felt them lingering in the air more than she should have, Hinata knew.

He'd gone back to lighting his cigarette, eyes closed in indifference, and she felt irritation swell up inside her. One of the reasons for it was understandable; he was ignoring her, and she'd honestly had enough of that in the previous years of her life. The second reason, however, was a bit more complex in its simplicity. She wanted to see his eyes again, and he was hiding them. _Why _did she want to see his eyes again so badly? They were nothing special. She would rather just go to Itachi and-

And she stopped that thought right in its tracks.

"May I remind you that this is my home, Uchiha-san?" she retorted, using her irritation for what it was worth, before it dwindled away- as she knew it would. It was just the way she was.

"I'm aware, Hyuuga," he said, but his eyes still didn't open. Hinata's lips turned downwards in an inexplicable frown. "Although it won't remain that way for very long, as I'm sure you know."

Was he mocking her?

Her lavender-tinted eyes hardened. When she spoke, thoughts of Hanabi and Neji sprang up from the back of her mind, and she felt as if her voice was clearer than it had been in years, "This will _always _be my home, Uchiha-san. Best you remember that, please."

And _finally, _they opened. And they looked straight at her, with an intensity that made her shoulders rise, her neck tense, and her breath hitch. And, _God, _she hoped her face didn't look as warm as it felt. She had a feeling he saw it, but thought himself above paying attention to such meagre details. That was one thing Hinata could claim was different between the two brothers.

"-random people?"

She shook herself out of her stupor.

"I-I'm sorry, what?"

His lips quirked upwards, and he repeated, "Does my sister-in-law have a habit of staring at random people?"

She flushed, lips tightening. Averting her eyes in embarrassment, she answered with a boldness that wasn't really felt within, "A habit of staring at people who stare at other things, perhaps."

His eyes flashed, and she was surprised to find that she had briefly stopped breathing. She stopped breathing entirely when he murmured, "This is the second time, Hyuuga."

"You- you _knew-_"

"You were being pretty obvious."

"Why didn't you _say _anything when I- when I-"

"Called out?" he asked. "Why would I? It wasn't my business. I was doing what I was doing, Hyuuga, and it was no concern of mine if some girl wanted to interrupt by saying something probably insignificant."

She paused. After a few seconds of silence, Hinata said quietly, "Pardon me, Uchiha-san, but that's rather selfish, isn't it?"

"Perhaps."

"I was concerned," she admitted, feeling great pleasure in the minute widening of his eyes. "Was that so wrong?"

Recovering, he let a dry, humourless laugh escape his lips, and answered, "Concerned for what?"

"A little boy who was getting soaked in the rain, probably about to catch pneumonia."

His eyes flashed, but not in the same way as before. And,_ dear God_, her stomach was doing flip-flops again, and she was left wondering vaguely _where in the world that light reflected in his eyes came from._ How long had it been since she had to coach herself how to breath, since she had been allowed to have such loose lips around someone?

"You're interesting, Hyuuga," she felt his velvety voice abruptly break her train of thoughts. Risking a glance, she blinked at the sight of a faint smirk, and found herself wondering how _at-home _it looked on him, and how out-of-place it would look on Itachi.

_Itachi._

"That's an unusual word to use, Uchiha-san," she said softly, meekly, half-hoping he would hear and half-hoping that he wouldn't.

"Maybe," he admitted, leaning against the pillar. "You'll make a good wife for Itachi, hopefully."

And there it was. Was she bound to hear the same thing everywhere she escaped to?

"I-" she began, but something, _something _was clogging her throat and _why_, she wondered, couldn't she give the expected response? He was looking at her with curiosity dancing within the onyx depths, and she _had to turn away._

"Everything okay?"

"I'm- I'm fine," she responded with difficulty. _I think my stomach is growing a mind of its own again._ "Please don't worry about me. I j-just... I think I feel a bit ill."

Scampering away before his footsteps could reach her, she mentally reprimanded herself and her atrocious stuttering habit for resurfacing again. How long had it been since she had known of the engagement-cum-business pact? And she couldn't believe how cornered she still felt.

Because, honestly, she'd thought the familiar feeling of suffocation had long since been locked away in her hidden Pandora's Box.

_"Sometimes I wish I had never met you, because then I could go to sleep at night not knowing there was someone like you out there."_

The first time he had truly smiled at her was two years later, at the long-awaited wedding day.

In the traditional ivory-white kimono, several intricate pearl and beige-white patterns intertwined on its surface, she had looked beautiful. Neji had told her so, Hanabi had told her so, Itachi had told her so, and even her father had told her so. At the age of twenty, Hinata was a graceful young woman, but not proud, never proud. Modesty was her saving grace, she believed.

Tentatively, she touched the pin holding her half-formal bun together, thin, curly tendrils of hair lightly framing her naturally-pale face. She looked back at herself in the mirror, and honestly speaking, she couldn't find the beauty that all of them seemed to spot. All she could see was a powdered face, glossed lips, and eyes lined heavily with kohl.

She looked back at her reflection with a face free of any expression, strangling a sigh before it could escape her throat.

_"Do you love him?" _Hanabi had asked her, fixing her hair.

_"Maybe," _she had answered.

_"Do you think he'll make a good husband?" _

_"Probably."_

Then, her sister had simply nodded, and left the room with narrowed eyes and subtly-trembling lips.

"Hikari-san, how much time is left before the ceremony?" she murmured softly to the maid checking for any stitching mistakes in her kimono.

"About half an hour, Hinata-sama," she replied, grey eyebrows furrowing in concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is perfect," she reassured, and shot a well-aimed smile over her shoulder, if only for the sake of the woman who had been looking after her since she was a stumbling child. "Would it be alright if I stepped out into the gardens for a short while?"

"Of course," Hikari approved, returning the smile with a warm one of her own, and Hinata felt herself relax at that scarce hint of familiarity. "I understand how anxious you must be feeling; I was once your age too, after all. But please be sure not to be gone for too long a time, Hinata-sama."

Hinata nodded, and as soon as she felt the pressure of Hikari's hands leave her shoulders, she slipped out of the room. Amongst the flowers that had been her silent companions since she was a child who could barely speak, she felt the tension and anxiety seeping out of her, and finally allowed that persistent sigh to escape her lips.

Her gaze was pulled to the catfish pond.

Pursing her glossed lips in contemplation, she finally stood, hesitantly walked over to the pond, and kneeled near its edge. In the silence of the gardens, she watched the movements of the fish, the ripples in the water, and the swirling colours of dark red, orange, and grey for a long time.

(And wondered what-_who_- exactly she was trying to recall.)

_You haven't spoken to him in two years, just caught a few glimpses of him here and there. And he's never looked your way._

"I know," she whispered unknowingly.

"Know what?"

She gasped sharply and turned around, many of her tendrils spinning to slap her cheek.

"Ita-" she began, when she saw the same pale, sculpted lips and the aristocratic nose. She stopped, however, when she caught sight of eyes more passionate than Itachi's could ever be.

They hardened imperceptibly, before their owner said, "Sasuke."

"Sasuke-san," she repeated, lowering her eyes immediately.

"Nervous, Hyuuga?"

"Quite," she murmured, dipping the tip of her index finger into the water and swirling it around one of the fish. "We always seem to have our conversations in the same place," she smiled at her distorted reflection, "although I wouldn't call the first one a conversation, really."

He nodded absent-mindedly. She watched him from the corner of her eye, and when he crouched down across from her, she lowered her gaze again. They were both people who knew when to appreciate silence, and so they wisely chose to remain quiet. When she glanced up at him, she found that, as he admired the catfish pond, his eyes were unchanged from ten years ago. Unexpectedly, she sought more comfort in _that_, than in Hikari-san's warm smile- and soon, her lips fondly turned upwards, warmth spreading inside of her.

And then, her eyes met her reflection. Her smile dimmed, because truthfully, she still couldn't see the beauty in that face, and she didn't see how Itachi could.

Fists clenching and unclenching, Hinata stood up and turned away from the younger brother of her soon-to-be spouse. She heard him sigh and stand up; her steps faltered.

"I'm going to ask you the same thing I did two years ago, Hyuuga, and I don't like repeating things, so I better not get the same answer," he said loudly to her back. "Is everything okay?"

_He's never looked your way, but he remembered. He remembered._

"Sasuke-san," she said, turning around. For once, she chose to step out of the pre-set boundaries of her character, just for a second. And so she smiled at him warmly, warmer than she ever had before, and asked him, "How do I look?"

He showed no sign of surprise, other than the slight parting of his lips- and that was enough to give him away.

"Pardon?"

Instead of responding verbally, she raised her eyebrows expectantly and widened her smile, just barely enough for him to notice.

He raised an eyebrow at the rare display of childishness, and said, "Are you serious?"

"Can I ask for an honest answer, Sasuke-san?"

He stared at her expressionlessly for a moment or two, before letting loose a small, sincere smile that lasted not more a second, but it made her stomach do those flip-flops all the same, and she realised that she actually _missed _them.

"You look good, Hyuuga."

At the end of the day, when she stood at the altar holding Itachi Uchiha's arm and saw Sasuke Uchiha's little tell-tale smile as he sat at the front seat, she didn't know whether it was for her or for his brother, but all the same, she felt as if the reason she hadn't collapsed at the time of the vows was not the older brother's arm, but the younger one's smile.

_"You can close your eyes to what you don't want to see, but you can't close your heart to what you don't want to feel."_

The first time she had seen him, as in, actually _seen _him, had been a year later, when she was wife to Itachi Uchiha, and daughter-in-law to Fugaku and Mikoto Uchiha.

They had grown close, she had to admit, in a brotherly-sisterly way.

"Sasuke, could you come here for a second please?" she called from the kitchen, wiping at her watering eyes.

"Yeah?" she heard him switching off the television and stepping into the kitchen, and so she pointed towards the tomatoes on the other side of the slab.

"Could you chop those up for me? Itachi is about to come home, and I don't think I can finish preparing lunch on time without some help."

"Sure."

A few minutes later, he announced, "Done." So, she looked over at the tomatoes, which seemed as if they had been chopped with nothing less than a chef's expert hand. Of course, she noticed that the pieces were less than they were _supposed _to be, and the slices were most definitely not any broader than she had expected. She smiled.

"Thanks," he said with a mouthful.

"You're welcome."

She'd known he was smirking. _That_, perhaps, was the first glance.

-*.^.*-

Her husband was out for days at a time on business deals, and it wasn't as if she didn't understand, really. After all, hadn't her father been the same way? But, if she was honest, a woman would very rarely _not _get tired of having prepared meals go cold on the table time after time, when her spouse inconveniently forgot to inform her of his engagements. It was bound to get frustrating at some time; Itachi had to know that.

It was, she supposed, one of those nights, when the bed was far too cold for her liking. It was also one of the days when a late-night soap was incidentally on, and Hinata became, for an hour or so, a rather sentimental woman.

Therefore, when Sasuke Uchiha stumbled upon his sister-in-law when she was in tears and sniffling into the embroidered handkerchief he had gifted to her on her birthday, a tissue box placed beside her, he was naturally very confused.

"Hinata," he addressed gently; a tone he rarely ever used, she knew. "What's wrong?"

She sniffed and simply mumbled, "He died."

She could almost _hear _the alarm bells ringing in his head.

"_Who_?"

"Kazuki," she sighed despondently. "Kazuki Kirihara."

"Ka-" he started, before he caught sight of the T.V. screen and immediately released her shoulders, a vein popping at his forehead.

"Sasuke," she called to him when he began walking away. "Won't you stay? Just for a while?"

Because Hinata was, after all, a sentimental woman.

He looked at her over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, then at the T.V. screen, and then at her again.

"A few minutes only, please," she implored.

"You know how much I hate emotional serials like the ones you watch, Hinata."

He sat down beside her and watched anyway. _That_, she assumed, was the second glimpse.

-*.^.*-

They were grocery shopping.

Hinata briefly glanced at her list; eggs, sugar, rice, spinach, tomatoes, cereal, and walnuts. Almost all of the aforementioned items could be found in Aisle 14, other than a few which were probably somewhere in Aisle 7. So why, she wondered, was Sasuke wandering off in the direction of _Aisle 10_?

"I'll be back in a minute," he informed with a brief wave, his back turned to her. "Get the things on the list until then."

She nodded, even though she knew that he couldn't see her, and wondered what exactly he wanted to buy from a _grocery store_, of all places. Abstractedly, she shrugged, and decided to leave him to his own mysteries. Everyone has needs of their own, after all. Consequently, when she saw him strolling out of the store with a bottle of milk in hand, she thought nothing of it.

However, when she saw the same emptied bottle placed next to a bowl half-filled with milk the next day, right outside the gates of the Uchiha mansion, HInata believed that she ought to give him some credit after all.

And _that, _she believed, was the third and final glimpse.

Unfortunately, the moment she _saw _him, was also the moment when the flip-flops of her stomach were replaced by the flutters of her heart.

_"A woman likes to believe that her first love is her last, and that her last love is her first."_

The first time he had kissed her was no less than three agonizing years later. He was merciless, she believed, and _she _was merciless, because, well, she had a perfect husband (_who was never home) _who was polite, chivalrous, courteous, and he always complimented her dinners (_if he ever ate them) _and he had bought her that nice, beautiful double-bed (_which was unbearably cold half the time she tried sleeping in it)_ and he was just _wonderful, _really. What reason did she have to forsake him?

And honestly, it was ridiculous; the way her knees wobbled and her lips trembled and her cheeks flamed and tears prickled at the back of her eyes for _whatever _reason whenever _he _was in her line of sight. She was a grown woman of twenty-four, for God's sake, and it was purely _ridiculous. _

And it was ridiulous, it was; the way she couldn't restrain the absurdly happy smile from surfacing whenever she (begrudgingly) slipped into a clinging dress, and she saw him avert his eyes and blush ever-so-slightly, and, heck, she even heard him murmur a curse once or twice after she slipped back into her room.

Of course, modesty was s_till _her saving grace, and should she adorn any such dress, she would have to be _forced _into it.

But that didn't help her God-darned _giddiness _when she caught an unintentional glance at him hiding his mouth and tell-tale blush behind his hand, or when he muttered a muffled swear word and punched the wall of his room in frustration after Mikoto pushed her into a low-cut, sweeping velvet dress.

And, hell, it was wrong, wrong, w_rong, _but she'd be damned if she could help it.

"You know, you should really stop wearing those weird dresses."

"Hm?" she turned to him, and inwardly, she found it kind of hilarious how she pretended to listen to his words when she was mostly just looking at his dark, dark eyes, and his pale, pale face, and his perfect, perfect-

"The kind mom makes you wear."

"Well, she does _make _me wear them, after all," she answered, eyes trailing back to the computer screen. "How can I refuse my mother-in-law?"

"What do you mean 'how?'" he replied (somewhat grumpily, she noticed) and leaned his head against the bedpost.

"You needn't worry so much about it, Sasuke," she said between peals of soft laughter.

"I _have _to worry, you twit. Are you blind to the way those unknown men look at you during parties?"

Blushing, she replied meekly, "They're unknown to _me_, yes, but you and Itachi must be familiar with them, at least?"

"Of course we are," he muttered. "That's what makes it worse."

She smiled, touched by his concern. "Don't worry yourself over me now, I can handle myself. Besides, if I'm ever in need of help, you know you're the first person I would come to, don't you?"

He paused for a minute, and she wondered if, perhaps, she'd said something unnecessary.

"Not Itachi?" he said quietly.

Hinata heard the faint rustle of silk bedsheets, telling her of his changed position. She swallowed inaudibly, throat having gone dry all of a sudden, and spun in her chair to face him. She found him sitting stiffly at her edge of the bed, shoulders tensed and eyes narrowed with so much of his usual intensity that she thought she would break.

Preparing herself to face the music, she shook her head slowly, claiming, "Not Itachi."

He stared for a moment, in which even their breathing seemed to make no sound (or perhaps they weren't breathing at all.) Finally, flopping down on the bed once more, he scoffed at her, "You say things that make no sense sometimes, Hinata."

She knew she shouldn't have pursued it. She knew it better than anyone; but what could she possibly do when her chest wouldn't stop feeling as if it had pins stabbing it again and again?

"What's there not to make sense, Sasuke?" she demanded.

He didn't sit up, but she knew she saw the rise and fall of his chest halt abruptly for a second.

"Please answer me," she said, her voice soft, but resolute.

"Don't demand things of me, Hinata," his voice was as hard as stone, and she winced, but she was strong. Meek, but strong. She would fight, because she _could._

"I won't demand, then. I'm asking you to tell me why-" she gulped and licked her lips, disregarding the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, "-why it's so hard to believe that I... that I can trust my brother-in-law more than my hus-"

"That's enough."

He stood up rather abruptly, briskly walking to the mahogony door. She immediately reached out and grabbed the edge of his sleeve.

"I-I _refuse _to let you go without an answer, Sasuke-"

"I could push you away and walk out of here right now, Hinata."

"Then why won't you?" she said, her voice breaking slightly. "Why _won't _you?"

"Let go," he hissed through his teeth. "_Let go._"

"No," she whispered. She'd flinched, and she'd even closed her eyes in preparation for an incoming blow, but she didn't loosen her grip. She couldn't let him go, _not now._ Because, damn it all to hell, she _loved _her brother-in-law, and she loved him to _pieces_, and she loved his eyes, and she loved the quirk of his lips, and she loved his smile, and she loved who he was, and, God help her, she loved _him_.

"Don't make this harder than it already is," he said to her, with a dead voice that spoke not of a hint of emotion, but she loved that as well, because she loved every part of him. "Please. Don't."

"Can I ask for an honest answer, Sasuke?"

Obsidian eyes widened. She repeated, "Can I ask for an honest answer?"

As quick as lightning, he turned around entirely, gripping both of her wrists in his hands.

"Don't," he spoke with a forcefulness that shook her, and a fragility which moved her at the same time. "Don't do that, okay?_ Don't_."

She knew that his breathing was growing uneven, and that his hands were starting to tremble. She felt guilty for reducing him to this, but she recognized that it was simply something she had to do, because she wanted an answer. And nobody was getting away with it.

"I want- I _need _to know, Sasuke," she spoke bravely, in spite of the tears welling up in her pale eyes. "I- _please. _This is- it's something we both have to know, and don't you _dare _ask me what I mean, because... because..."

She shook her head wildly, screwing her eyes shut. She wouldn't let him see the tears; she wanted an honest answer, after all.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he admitted quietly. "I- _fuck,_ this wasn't-"

He released one of her wrists (she paid no heed to the red marks) and clutched his raven tresses in a tight fist. "You were supposed to love Itachi," he whispered fiercely, more to himself rather than to her. "You were supposed to_ love him. _Why-?"

"I do," she confessed, smiling. "I do love him, you know. But I love you more."

"Shut up," he ordered, turning his face away from her. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up._ I can't _do _this, Hinata. Why can't you understand? My own fucking _brother_-"

"I'm not asking you to do anything, Sasuke," she clarified. "Please understand. I don't want to do anything that might make Itachi unhappy. All I want is to know what _you _want. I'm ashamed of acting blindly on emotions, but I'm not ashamed of telling you that I love you. I know that it may be selfish of me, but I- I just want you to _know_ that there _are _people in the world who would do anything for you. I'm disturbed, yes, and maybe I _should _be ashamed, but at this point, it's difficult, you know; you love someone so much that there's hardly any room for anything else."

She watched him lean his forehead against her shoulder, and fondly buried a slender hand in his haphazard locks, feeling more at peace than she had in years.

She felt the brush of his long eyelashes as he blinked once, twice, thrice. He straightened, and looked at her with something indecipherable in his eyes.

"I always did say you were interesting," Sasuke murmured.

He pressed a ghost of a kiss to her lips, opened the door, and stepped away. Once she heard the soft, unmistakable click, Hinata collapsed near the edge of the bed, and finally allowed the tears that had been gathering behind her eyes to escape freely.

_"I believe that if I should die, and you were to walk near my grave, from the very depths of the earth, I would hear your footsteps."  
_

The first time she had visited his grave, it had been raining in torrents, not unlike a certain day twenty years prior to the visit.

Incidentally, he had died of pneumonia. Perhaps it was karma, or perhaps it was simply fate's ironic sense of humour. And she, in her soaked, black dress, would never forget the day his life was stolen; both from him, and from her.

She stood beside her husband, eyes fixated on the fading grey stone. She remembered his pain at the time of his death. She loved him, and she loved every other part that belonged to him, even his pain and his suffering. And so she had meant it when she told him that she would have gladly taken it all upon her shoulders, because, after all, she loved him for it.

And she remembered his last breath, his parting words to her, and her alone. She remembered that those words, in his dying breath, were spoken with more life than she had ever seen from him, other than from the soul within his eyes.

_"I could love you more in a day than Itachi could ever hope to throughout his whole life, and I know that I could, because I _do, _I _did_, and I _will_, until the day I die, and, hell, probably even after that."_


End file.
